


Wrecked

by Lise



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Beating, Demonic Possession, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt Sam Winchester, Rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-04 17:13:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/396230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lise/pseuds/Lise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One step forward, seven steps back. Possessed!Dean/Sam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wrecked

It was supposed to be a good night.

Sam had his soul back. They were settling into their groove, and even if shit was going down (it always was) Dean hadn’t felt this good in a long time.

So he went out to get some food, and right as he was getting back to the car heard, “Well, look who it is,” and turned to see a petite girl, cute but probably too young, blinking up at him.

“Do I know you?” Dean asked, somewhat baffled, and she smiled.

“Probably not,” she said, and sidled on into his personal space, resting a hand on his chest. “But I know you,” and black slid over her eyes even as she pulled a pocket knife and sliced a shallow cut across his shoulder.

Dean didn’t even get why and was two sentences into an exorcism because _Jesus seriously_ before the girl’s head snapped back and black smoke was pouring out of her mouth and Dean really didn’t want to remember the feeling of demon shoving itself down his throat, but he probably would anyway.

The demon turned his head downward to look at its former vessel collapsed limply on the pavement, and said, _look, Dean, I’ll be nice. I won’t even make you kill her._

Dean couldn’t even scream in his own head. Couldn’t even curse and tell it how _dead_ its ass was, because even if he was stuck, _Sam._ Total silence.

_I have bigger fish to fry,_ it said, and shoved its hands into his pockets, pulling out the keys and sliding into the Impala, humming under his breath, and oh no. Oh no.

Dean would have given anything just to bang against the walls of his glass prison. Express some of the rage he was feeling. God, please.

* * *

Dean watched through his own eyes as the demon unlocked the door and stepped inside. Sam was sitting at the table, frowning at the computer screen. Researching. He glanced up when the door closed, said, “Hey,” and then looked puzzled. “Weren’t you going to get food?”

“Yeah,” the demon said. “About that.” Dean willed Sam to know, to understand that something had changed, to sense that something was off, but Sam just turned around and focused all his attention on Dean, brows furrowing together worriedly.

“What happened?”

“I was just _wondering,_ ” the demon said, and it seemed like his own voice grated over his vocal cords, “I mean, I got halfway there, and there I am waiting in line, and it occurs to me – why am I doing this?”

Sam blinked, looking stunned. “…what?”

“Why am I,” the demon went on, “Standing around, waiting around like I want to be babysitting my little brother who’s two steps from the edge of crazy?” Sam blinked again. His jaw worked, but nothing came out. “See,” the demon went on, “I been thinking. What do I owe you?”

“Dean?” Sam said, and this time he did sound unsure. Dean felt the demon twist his mouth into a grin, shit-eating and too familiar.

“Can’t believe it, can you? Can’t believe I’d have the guts to do your shtick, cut and run. I mean, when you were soulless, I had to make sure you couldn’t kill anyone. But now?”

For the first time, Dean caught a flicker of doubt, but then the demon was moving in, crowding Sam too close. “No, actually,” the demon went on. “Scratch that. I know _exactly_ what I owe you.” It leaned down, slightly, put one hand on the table. Dean was staring straight into Sam’s eyes, Sam’s too wide eyes.

“A beatdown.”

* * *

The last time he’d punched Sam had been after Veritas, as Sam, looking uncommonly earnest, asked for help, and the anger had welled up so fast and hard that Dean couldn’t keep it back anymore. This time, Dean wasn’t angry at all, but he was suddenly reminded of the way it felt to break Sam’s nose.

It took a couple blows for Sam to even start fighting back, and even then he was still confused, holding back, not sure he wanted to hurt Dean – and even when he started landing punches of his own despite the fact that Dean could feel them the demon didn’t seem fazed. That was probably how demons kept going after their host was dead, because the host’s pain didn’t matter, wasn’t even relevant.

Dean felt like a coward for it, but he would have given anything, anything, to just close his eyes and remember nothing until this was over, because it would be over, Sam would figure it out, Sam would know it wasn’t him-

Except Sam ended up flat on his back, breathing hard, the demon standing over him and Dean could feel his face twist into the expression of triumph he was familiar with from the moment before a kill; and looking down at Sam, he knew that Sam wasn’t sure.

Wasn’t sure this wasn’t Dean. Wasn’t sure this wasn’t exactly what he deserved. “Dean,” said Sam, through split lips, and it was a plea like claws through Dean’s fucking _soul._

“Shut up,” the demon said. “You talk enough. I don’t want to hear you talk. I want you to listen.”Dean dropped to his knees straddling Sam’s waist. “Do you even know how long I’ve had to carry your ass in a sling? Since forever. And okay, that was fine, cause you were my little brother, right? And dad told me to look after you. But then you come back from Hell and-” the demon snorted. “I find out how you really feel. You don’t give a fuck about me. You don’t give a fuck about anything but yourself, and I think, hey, well, you never _have._ And I’m done.” The demon leaned Dean’s body forward until their faces were inches apart. “You hear me? I’m done putting up with your shit. Never again. I had to watch you walk around for months and I thought I wanted you back the way you were, but I worked it out, Sam. You didn’t change when you didn’t have your soul. Not really. I was just seeing what was there all along.”

The demon leaned back again, and Dean dared to hope that was it, that the demon would take his body and leave and that would suck, that would _really_ suck but Sam would be alive, and Sam would figure it out, he had to, Sam always did. Then the demon pulled his mouth into a smile. “And you know what?” It said. “It’s my turn to be selfish,” and moved its hand down to Dean’s crotch, started undoing the buttons.

“Oh god,” Sam said, and his voice had suddenly gone thin and kind of panicky (voicing Dean’s words he couldn’t say), “Dean, this isn’t you, this isn’t- fuck, Ch-”

The demon hauled back and punched Sam again before he could get the name out, slamming Sam’s head back into the floor and leaving him lying there dazed. “That’s what you want to think, huh? That it isn’t me? Too bad, Sammy. This is _all_ me.” The demon jerked Dean’s fly open and palmed his dick through his boxers. “So how’s this going to go?” It purred out of his mouth, in his voice, and Dean wanted to throw up. “You get a choice, cause I’m just that nice. You can suck me off or I can ram this baby up your ass so hard you feel it in your throat. Up to you, Sam.”

Sam seemed to be trying to gather his wits and just blinked, swollen mouth moving but not shaping words. The demon smirked. “Okay,” it said. “I’ll take that as a no. And you know, Sam? I don’t deal well with rejection.”

If he could scream. If he could do anything. Glass, invisible walls, watching through a pinhole as the demon wound a hand in Sam’s hair, shimmied his hips up. The demon – Dean – was already half-hard, and nudged his hips forward, cockhead nudging against Sam’s bruised and bleeding lips. Sam tried to turn his head away with a strangled sound and the demon tightened its grip.

“I could break your jaw if you want, so you can’t ever close it again,” the demon said. “That what you want, Sam? How bad would it be, just for once, to give me what I want?”

Sam stilled. Then, very slowly, parted his lips. The demon didn’t give him a chance to move before thrusting forward into Sam’s mouth, hurriedly enough that Dean almost worried about Sam’s _teeth_ (and how stupid was that, thinking about self-preservation at a time like this, when he was-).

The demon groaned, and Dean could feel it too, the hot-wet-slick warmth of the inside of Sam’s mouth wrapped around his dick as it hardened the rest of the way, and hated himself for how good it felt. “Fuck, yes,” the demon said, and dragged Sam’s body further upright so it could guide Sam’s mouth further down Dean’s cock. Dean could feel Sam’s tongue flickering desperately against his flesh, could feel the vibrations of the sounds he was trying to make against the head of his cock as it nudged against the back of Sam’s throat and then-

The demon threw its head back. Dean’s whole body jerked taut. He could _feel_ it, the tighter passage of Sam’s throat, the pressure against him as Sam swallowed repeatedly, and then the demon dropped his head and his eyes so Dean could see the desperation in Sam’s eyes, nostrils flaring wildly because he couldn’t breathe, hands clawing at Dean’s hips, legs, body bucking as the demon rocked even further forward so Dean could feel spit (and probably blood) leaking from Sam’s mouth down his balls.

The demon pulled out suddenly, and Sam twisted to the side, coughing until he retched and threw up thin bile. “Nasty,” the demon observed, while Sam was still panting. His brother’s head turned back up and Sam was shuddering violently, not looking angry, just so fucking _confused._

“You’re not-”

“Don’t start that again,” the demon snapped, and leaned over to snatch a pair of socks out of Sam’s open duffel, shoving them into Sam’s open mouth. “I told you. I don’t want to hear you talk.”

The demon stood up, and fuck, Dean could feel the ache in his dick and this wasn’t over. It reached over with Dean’s hand and grabbed a tie off the bed from their uniforms of the day, jerked Sam’s wrists forward, and started binding them together. Sam seemed to regain some sense and struggled (come on, Sam, _fight me_ ) but the demon was fast and Sam was still dazed and it seemed too soon before the demon hauled Sam up and shoved him toward the bed, pushing him down onto it face first.

Everything seemed to go so fast. The demon yanked down Sam’s jeans and boxers, restrained his ankles when Sam tried to lash out, awkward because of his wrists compressed against his belly.The demon palmed Dean’s dick and clambered onto the bed, hauling Sam’s hips up into position even as his brother’s struggles both intensified and became more futile.

Please, Dean caught himself thinking, please, at least use some goddamn lube.

It didn’t.

Sam was too tight. It didn’t feel good. A couple thrusts and he could feel and smell blood, but it barely slicked the way, and Sam’s muscles stayed tight, clamped down enough that it almost _hurt_ but somehow he was still fucking hard. “How stupid are you?” the demon snarled in his voice, “Thinking I would just forgive you for everything you did? ‘It wasn’t me?’ Yeah, right, how many times can we use that excuse before it wears out, Sammy, how many times-”

Sam’s body jerked and shuddered, trying to get away from the invasion, the violation, and the play of the muscles of his back was mesmerizing, and in another situation, Dean told himself, it would be hot as hell, if it weren’t him, weren’t Sam, if he weren’t raping his brother bloody and the wall, Jesus, the wall.

_I like the way you think,_ the demon said, and leaned forward, pausing to grind balls deep in Sam’s ass, the smell of blood thickening in the air. “Hey, Sammy,” his voice said, low and hissed and hateful, “Satan ever do this to you down there? Ever ride you like this in the Pit? Maybe looking like me, huh?” and if Sam had been tense before now he was rigid, brutally tightrope tense, and he made a thin sound somewhere between a whimper and a whine.

Like that was what fucking set him off, Dean could feel his balls draw up, the tight feeling low in his belly, and then he was coming, and coming hard while _raping_ his _brother_ and if Dean could have felt sick he would have, would have thrown up everything he’d ever eaten, because he didn’t want this, he didn’t.

The demon pulled out and swiped Dean’s hand over his cock, held it up so Dean could see the blood staining his shaft. “God, Sam,” it said, “Can’t believe I waited this long.” Then it seemed to focus, and Dean looked too, and realized that Sam wasn’t just twitching.

He was fucking _seizing._

The demon started laughing, in Dean’s voice, dammit, threw back its head and fucking _cackled_ because it knew as well as Dean did that this was it, this was everything keeping Sam sane crumbling all because Dean had been stupid enough to get himself possessed, and now it was over, whatever happened, it was over.

The demon turned Sam over to his side and dragged the bloody, saliva-soaked socks out of his mouth as Sam fell still, eyes staring emptily at nothing. _Look at that,_ it said. _This is it, Dean. This is how it all ends._ Eyes fixed on Sam’s face, Dean saw Sam blink.

Demons always gloated, and it was always their downfall. Dean realized it a moment before the demon did. A moment was enough for Sam to open his mouth and speak, voice dry and cracked and broken but still audible. “ _Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas,_ ” and it occurred to Dean that he’d never been so happy to hear an exorcism in his entire life.

They were lucky. (Lucky, ha.) Lucky in that the demon was pretty weak, and taken by surprise, and had probably done most of what it wanted anyway. Dean felt it rip away from him, leaving something like an oil slick behind, force his throat open and burst out into the world, tearing out of him with as much violence as it had entered.

And it was gone.

* * *

The room was a mess. _They_ were a mess, and Sam was so quiet that Dean didn’t know how to break the silence. Probably he needed a hospital. Probably that would have been best.

Dean didn’t know how to ask. In a minute. In a minute.

“How did you know it wasn’t me?” Dean said, so quietly, hating himself for asking at all. Needing to know. (Needing this to be over.)

“I didn’t,” Sam said, dully, and curled up into himself a little more tightly, still catching his breath.


End file.
